The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead

Front matter

THE DIOTHAS

or

by

Chapter 1

THE DIOTHAS;

OR,

"What you assert is as incomprehensible as it is strange."

My old friend, usually so earnestly matter-of-fact, now so mysteriously earnest, regarded me with a quiet smile, much as an elder listens to the objections of a child.

"You have it in your power to judge for yourself, subject to the conditions already mentioned."

As I gazed at my interlocutor, his serene confidence began to dispel my incredulity, and produce that condition of trusting belief in his power demanded as an indispensable prerequisite for the purpose in view. What we intensely desire to be true, we strongly, almost inevitably, tend to accept as true.

"I am willing to try the experiment," said I, after a long pause.

"Remember the conditions," was the response. "Your mind is imaginative and poetical; mine logical, and fairly stored with science and history. It is necessary to the success of our experiment, that your mind submit entirely to the guidance of mine."

"I consent," was my reply. "Let us begin at once."

Rising without a word from his seat on the opposite side of the fireplace, he turned down the lamp, so as to leave only a subdued light. Then, standing on the rug before me, he began to make the peculiar passes employed by mesmerists,—to whose influence, I may remark in passing, I have always been highly susceptible.

Gradually the objects before me grew indistinct: the multitudinous noises of the busy street below died away to a gentle murmur, like the sound of distant waves. That, too, ceased. I was wrapped in a profound and dreamless sleep.

Suddenly I awoke. My friend was standing in the same position as before, and was regarding me intently, not without some appearance of anxiety. The apartment presented its usual appearance, as I could well see, the lamp being now turned up. Full of disappointment, I supposed the experiment to have failed. For there I was, as wide awake, apparently, as ever I had been, with no sign of anything unusual in my surroundings.

Evidently reading my feelings in my countenance, he said, pointing toward the door,—

"Beyond that slight partition you will find that future society upon which you have so often curiously speculated. It is now in your power to see and judge for yourself."

While speaking he had approached the door. After a momentary hesitation, I followed, and passed through. Outside, instead of the familiar landing and the stairs up which I had so often wearily plodded, extended, far as I could see, a fairly lighted corridor of handsome proportions. In surprise I turned involuntarily toward the door through which I had just passed; but that, too, had vanished. The corridor extended, apparently, as far in that direction as in the other. For the moment, at least, we two seemed to be the only occupants of this seemingly endless gallery. Smiling at my look of amazement, my companion said,—

"You seem surprised; but are you quite certain of never having seen this place before?"

"Absolutely certain!" was my emphatic reply.

My companion regarded me with a look of keen inquiry, seemed to repress some observation that rose to his lips, but went on to say,—

"On passing at a step from the nineteenth to the ninety-sixth century, you must naturally expect to find many changes. The New York you knew and dwelt in crumbled into dust almost eighty centuries ago, in the ages that are now regarded as the twilight of history. Its fragments form only the lowermost layer of the five fathoms deep of detritus on which the present city stands, the accumulated remains of a succession of cities, each more magnificent than its predecessor."

Meanwhile we had reached and entered one of the recesses from which the corridor seemed to receive its light. This recess was closed toward the street by a single sheet of glass, presenting no visible outlet. It yielded, however, to a gentle push from my companion, and, turning on a central pivot, offered a means of exit by which we passed to the open air.

We now found ourselves in a colonuade, or, rather, arcade, which I supposed to be on the level of the street. Its width might be about that of our Broadway sidewalk. Here I saw shops, indeed, and numbers of people passing in both directions, but could not see the throng of vehicles indicated by the sounds that reached my ears. I stepped over to the balustrade that bounded the farther side of the arcade, and found that I was by no means on the level of the street, but in a sort of balcony two stories above it. The room I had left but a moment before was fully sixty feet above the sidewalk. New York had truly risen, in the course of ages, upon the ruins of its former self.

I was struck with amazement at the spectacle before. How different this from the Broadway up which I had sauntered but a few hours before!

The buildings, it is true, were not much taller than those to which I had been accustomed; but their effect was indescribably grand and strange. Imagine the present sidewalk covered by an arcade supported on arches and pillars of polished granite. The architecture was of a style to me utterly unknown, but combined in a remarkable degree the characteristics of lightness and solidity. Above the lower arcade rose others, one for each story, each slightly receding within the other, and of correspondingly lighter construction. The material of only the lowest arcade was of stone; that of the upper ones was a metal, incrusted with a peculiar oxide of stone color. So similar was it, indeed, to stone, that it was only by accident I discovered the real material of the delicate carved work, surpassing in airy grace and exuberant variety of detail the far-famed wonders of the Alhambra. The whole, though pervaded by a controlling unity of design, varied in details from story to story and from block to block; while color, sparingly and judiciously introduced, relieved the monotony of the stony-hued masses.

No intersecting streets were apparent, but their position was indicated by the wide and massive archways that pierced at intervals the otherwise unbroken lines of colonnade stretching toward the distant horizon. Over each archway, semi-recessed in a niche, stood a statue, each a work of genius. These statues, portraits as regards the features, but otherwise emblematic, served to indicate the names of the cross-streets. I was looking down upon the Wavoltha, or Avenue of Nations, the main artery of the great city. Of the figures above the archways, each pair symbolized one of the great nations of the earth in the persons of its most distinguished son and most distinguished daughter.

I was allowed to remain only a short time at the spot from which I caught my first glimpse of these wonders. Obedient to a gesture from my companion, I followed him a short distance along the arcade. He led me to the middle of one of the light bridges, that, thrown across at convenient intervals, afforded passage from one side to the other without the necessity of descending to the street.

From this spot I could pursue with my eyes the far-receding ranges of building to where, in the distant perspective, what loomed up so huge close by, seemed reduced to comparative insignificance. These long arcades, I was informed, as also the interior corridors, extended the whole length of the avenue for six miles without a break. As a natural consequence of this peculiar style of building, the respective location of shops and offices was exactly the reverse of that now seen. The lower story was assigned to offices and warerooms: the shops were in the upper stories. Each arcade, in fact, was equivalent to a whole street-front, possessing the great advantages of complete shelter from rain, sun, and dust, besides being free from the interruption of cross-streets in all above the lowest.

Manhattan Island, as might have been expected, had, long ages before, become, so to say, one enormous warehouse,—the chief port of entry for a population of more than a thousand millions. Space was far too valuable to be occupied with dwelling-houses. Besides, with their wonderful facilities for locomotion, a distance of fifty miles from the centre of business was of less consequence than five at present.

All this, of course, was not learned during the few minutes I devoted to gazing at the buildings. They so engrossed my attention for the moment, that I bestowed scarcely a glance on the busy traffic at my feet. I not only asked no questions, but forgot even the presence of my companion, who stood by in silence.

Soon, however, my eyes wandered from the works of man to man himself. From where I stood, only imperfect glimpses could be obtained of the numerous throng passing along the arcades. I readily assented, therefore, to my companion's proposal to descend to the busiest arcade, that a story below. A short walk along the colonnade on which we had first emerged brought us to a contrivance subserving the same purpose as our elevators. This, like all the similar contrivances throughout the city,—and they were found everywhere at short intervals,—worked automatically, by an ingenious application of force derived from the rise and fall of the tide in the harbor.

Chapter 2

On reaching the main arcade, I found ample occupation for eye and mind in noting the person and costume. of the handsome race whose representatives, of both sexes, were passing along with an elastic step that gave token rather of repressed energy than of feverish haste.

The feminine costume, the most simple as well as graceful that had ever met my eye, appeared to me, unversed in such matters, to consist, as regards the upper portion, of a loose tunic of some white or grayish material. This was confined round the waist by a silken sash or girdle, and, when thus girded up, reached to about. midway between knee and ankle. The tunic was, however, of such a length as to reach the instep when not sustained by the girdle. Such was, indeed, the usual way of wearing this garment indoors; it being then allowed to flow to the feet, unless the wearer was engaged in some active occupation. The lower part of the costume consisted of a sort of Turkish trousers confined round the ankles.

The feet were not imprisoned in the uncomfortable and unsightly coverings of the present, which seem designed to compel the human foot, naturally so beautiful, to resemble a hideous hoof. Here I saw the feet protected by a sandal carefully adapted to its purpose. This sandal might aptly be compared to a shoe with only a vestige of a heel, and having the upper leather cut away to below the instep. The sole consisted of a thin layer of some. highly elastic material, protected beneath by a harder substance, the latter not in one piece, but arranged in strips, so as to allow the foot to bend as freely as when unshod.

Over the shoulders was worn a sort of light scarf or mantilla, fastened in front, or over one shoulder, by a simple clasp of artistic design, the only article of jewellery that seemed to be worn. The scarf was worn of various hues, though of much fainter tones than the borders of the tunic, which were usually of some bright color, scarlet, blue, or pink. It was the girdle, however, that especially lent richness to the whole, by its brilliant color and elaborate embroidery.

The wearers of this costume displayed no other covering on their heads than their luxuriant masses of wavy hair, gathered into a graceful knot, with or without braids; or allowed to flow freely behind, confined, at most, by a ribbon. This fashion of allowing the hair to hang down was confined, as I afterwards learned, to maidens not betrothed. Matrons and betrothed maidens were, again, distinguished by other peculiarities in the arrangement of their hair. This was both prescribed by express law, and established by what is yet stronger,—the custom of immemorial ages. Coverings for the head were not worn except when gardening, or other outdoor exercise, ex- posed them to sun or rain. When temporarily exposed to the sun, they would protect their heads by throwing over them a fold of the scarf.

This elegant, and to me novel, costume did not strike me with any great surprise. Even in the course of a lifetime feminine attire is, among us, subject to such extreme, and at times whimsical, changes, that we are not easily surprised by any vagary of fashion in the array of the fair sex. What did surprise me, however, was the information, that, with additions and changes of material for colder weather, this fashion had but slightly varied during hundreds of generations.

The male costume consisted of a short tunic, reaching not quite to the knee, and sandals. The latter were similar to those worn by the women, but of somewhat stronger make, and having the upper leather of a plain buff or brown, instead of red or yellow. These articles, tunic and sandals, with underclothing consisting of a thin woollen shirt and short drawers, constituted the entire summer clothing of the men. Neither hat nor glove was worn, except for actual protection against the rigor of the seasons.

The practice of keeping the head almost always uncovered seemed to have the best effect upon the covering provided by nature. Men wore their hair about as long as at present, but in no case could I detect any tendency to baldness. Even in those of advanced years, the hair, however white with age, clustered in thick, crisp locks. about their temples. A noble race, truly, they appeared to me, this people of the far-distant future, the men well made and vigorous, though somewhat sum-browned; the women beautiful and graceful beyond any of their distant ancestresses of the present. Their beauty arose, not from any mere regularity of feature: countenances as fair may even now be seen among us. But long ages of intellectual culture had imparted a character to their beauty that rendered it as superior to mere insipid perfection of feature as a living flower is to a waxen imitation. Many a fashionable belle may display hands and feet more diminutive than those I there saw, but certainly rarely so perfect in form, so graceful in movement. Could they but see for once the free, elastic step of those rationally shod dames and damsels of the future, they would cast aside forever the unsightly casings in which they now consent to torture and distort their feet.

So interesting to me was the observation of the features and costumes of this magnificent race, that we proceeded for some distance before I had eyes for any thing else, or found leisure for questioning my companion.

"How is it," I inquired at last, that we meet but one class of the population? These. I suppose, belong to the aristocracy of your city,—a noble and handsome race indeed. But where are the working-classes? For some time I have been looking around for a specimen, but in vain. All seem to belong to a superior class."

"We have no aristocracy," was the reply, "if by that you mean a class living in idleness by the toil of others. Nor have we any working-class, if you mean a class that spends its life in toil that leaves no leisure for their development as intellectual beings. Such as these you so greatly admire compose the only class among us. You may call them an aristocracy if by that you mean a cultivated and ruling class, for such they are. You may also call them the working-class, for all support themselves by their own exertions."

"What!" I exclaimed. "That must imply Communism, or something like it."

"No: Communism, in the sense you mean, does not exist among us. Each is the owner of whatever property he acquires, whether by gift or his own exertions. But public opinion stigmatizes idleness as the meanest of vices, the fruitful parent of other vices, and of crime also. Now, it has been ascertained, by careful computation and by experiment, that if every able-bodied person in a community works between three and four hours every day, at some productive employment, the result will supply all with every necessary and comfort of life, with something to spare. Allowing other ten hours for sleep and refreshment, there remain still other ten for mental improvement, and such unproductive pursuits as individual taste may prefer.

"If any live in idleness, it is evident that others must toil to support them. Time-honored custom, therefore, requires that all children, whether boys or girls, shall acquire some handicraft. For the present, I must defer a full account of our social arrangements to some other occasion. I shall merely remark, that we consider the body as well as the mind to stand in need of due exercise to preserve it in sound condition. It has been found, that no physical exercise is so beneficial and pleasing as labor skilfully directed toward some definite object. All, therefore, whether possessing much or little, men and women, young and old, spend a certain number of hours each day in some productive employment, and no more dream of having their work done by others than of having eating, sleeping, or digestion performed by deputy. In universal industry has been found a panacea for the worst of the evils that for long ages were the curse of society and the despair of legislators. Our labor, however, is not drudgery. A few steps will take us to a window where you may see and judge for yourself to what perfection machinery has been brought. We merely guide: the real work is performed by forces once allowed to go to waste."

Had I been one of that sex whose special delight is shopping, I should ere this, no doubt, have begun my observations on the shop-windows. But man has ever been to me of greater interest than things. What attention, therefore, I could spare from my companion's explanations, was directed to the persons that, by these very explanations, became objects of yet greater interest than before. Meanwhile we had been passing along, whither I had time neither to think nor inquire. As my companion ceased speaking, he brought me to a stand before a large window, formed, like the rest, of what appeared to be one immense sheet of plate-glass.

Within was displayed machinery, whose workmanship I could not help admiring, though I could form not the slightest idea of its purpose. My attention was first arrested by the fact, that those parts of the mechanism that now would be made of iron or steel appeared to be of polished silver. Glass, too, was employed to an extent that surprised me, considering the brittle nature of that material. In answer to my inquiry, I learned that what seemed to me silver was, in reality, a peculiar variety of steel, coated with an extremely hard alloy of aluminum.

"Even in your day," said my informant, the ores of this metal were known to be more abundant than those of iron even. But, as none but expensive methods were known for extracting it from its ores, aluminum remained of slight practical importance. Since then processes have been discovered that render aluminum and other kindred metals as abundant as iron. On account of its lightness, and the slowness with which it tarnishes in the air, this metal is now preferred to iron for numberless purposes. Even when iron is employed, it is generally coated with this alloy, which preserves it from rust, and makes the use of machinery much cleanlier,—a matter of no slight importance, as machines are used for every purpose.

"That machine you see before you is a regulator, an indispensable article of household furniture. It supplies, or, rather, distributes, the motive-power required for any purpose to which machinery is applicable."

"But why is so much glass employed in these machines?" said I. "The mere vibration should be sufficient to utterly destroy it."

"Here is the explanation," he replied, and struck with all the power of his arm a heavy blow against the immense window-pane.

I started in consternation, expecting to see the splendid sheet of glass shattered, with all sorts of unpleasant consequences. The only result, however, was a dull, muffled sound, as if he had struck the side of a boiler.

Attracted by the sound, a pleasant, white-haired gentleman appeared in the door-way. Without a symptom of concern in regard to his costly window, he greeted my companion with a smile of recognition.

"I see, Utis,"—for so he addressed my friend,—"you, too, are interested by my window. The new system of packing works well. You notice there is scarcely any vibration."

After a few more words he retired; and my friend, seeing me still eying the window with astonishment, said, as be tapped the pane,—

"You might strike this with all the force you can put into a hammer. Dent it you possibly might, but shatter it you cannot."

"In the name of wonder!" exclaimed I, "what substance is this that appears to combine such incongruous properties? Is it glass, or iron?"

"This is malleable glass," was the reply, "perhaps the most useful invention of the last fifty centuries. Had a single man brought it to perfection, he would deservedly be reckoned among the chief benefactors of mankind. As it is, however, the name of the first inventor is unknown, or at least disputed; for this invaluable material is produced in its present perfection, only by the improvements slowly effected in the course of many ages.

"As now made, this material possesses most of the useful properties of a metal, combined with the important advantages of being transparent and practicably indestructible. We could spare almost any other of our inventions better than this. On the other side of the street is a range of buildings where nothing else is sold but ualin, as we call it, in its various applications. Our present civilization is founded to such an extent upon our possession of this material, that you cannot better begin your study of the one than by noting the manifold applications of the other."

Now that mention was made of crossing the street, I cast a look over the balustrade, and wondered how the crossing was to be effected. The surface of the street, I well saw, was occupied by four tracks. Upon the inner pair of these careered, at frequent intervals, vehicles of strange appearance, at a speed of ten or twelve miles an hour. To cross between these was evidently a matter of great risk, nor did I see any one attempting the passage. My guide solved the difficulty by simply leading me across one of the bridges already mentioned.

The arcades on this side presented as numerous a throng as those on the side we had just left. Here, too, the current of traffic showed a decided set toward the north. The windows of the various stores, which I now began to examine with more attention, displayed behind their glittering panes a vast array of objects, of whose names and uses I was as ignorant as a savage. One strange object after another met my view in such rapid succession that there was no time for asking questions.

Soon we had reached the place we were seeking. It would be useless to attempt a detailed description of the bewildering variety of crystal ware there displayed. The first store we visited was devoted to the sale of glass for floors and windows. There it lay, piled up in endless profusion,—plain, or curved, or curiously bent, colorless, or tinted in various hues; not tenderly packed in straw, but heaped up much as we see tin or boiler-plate. Here I had the satisfaction of convincing myself, by actual experiment with a hammer, that I could not break even a thin piece of this malleable glass that was given me. I was able to beat it out of shape, but not to break it. In other stores I saw all sorts of culinary and other domestic utensils, all made of this glass. Elsewhere, again, were found baths, wardrobes, water-pipes, all kinds of ware, indeed, now usually made of wood, terra-cotta, or metal. In another place the chemical apparatus specially excited my interest. I had been somewhat of a dabbler in that science, but here I found my knowledge of small avail. I could not even guess at the uses of the great variety of articles displayed before my bewildered eyes. Some few instruments had, in some degree, preserved their present forms throughout the long series of intervening ages. But, with a sigh of humiliation, I felt within me that I belonged to the dark ages of the far past.

My friend took as much pleasure in explaining as I in questioning. Yet, as he remarked, many things are impossible of clear explanation to even the acutest intellect that lacks the requisite preliminary information. Science had taken immense strides, and many of them; and I had yet to acquire the rudiments of the new system of knowledge.

"It is about time to leave the city," said my companion, when we again found ourselves outdoors.

"My home is fully thirty miles ontside the city, and we most not be late for dinner. Punctuality. in even the minor affairs of life, is, with us, less a virtue than a mental habit."

Up to this moment, strange to say, I had given not a thought to my own dress. I had been too absorbed in observing that of others. But, at this most unexpected invitation to dinner, an alarming thought suggested itself. How was I to present myself before strangers, perhaps ladies, in the dressing-gown and slippers that formed my array before I left my chamber on this eventful journey? What a spectacle had I been presenting! With alarm I cast a hasty glance over my habiliments, and observed, for the first time, that the same influence that had translated me to a distant age had effected a corresponding alteration in my outward appearance. I found myself arrayed, as far as I could judge, in the prevailing style. of the period. It now occurred to me, that, among the great variety of glass-ware, I had noticed no mirrors, among us so important. On expressing my surprise, I was informed that the habits and costume of men were so simple that they rarely found occasion for such an article.

"But their wives and daughters?" I suggested.

He acknowledged, with a smile, that mirrors were in use among the fair sex.

"It is their privilege," said he, "to be beautiful, and, in some measure, a social obligation to keep themselves so. The arrangement of their hair, especially, though simple, requires the aid of a mirror. I understand, however, why you wish to see one; and, as it may put you more at your ease, I will take you to where you can view yourself at full length."

After a few moments' reflection, he bethought himself of a place where such articles were for sale, and took me there. Though of excellent quality, the glasses were generally of medium size. In one of the largest I surveyed my personal appearance in as serious earnest as ever did a young beauty arrayed for her first ball, or, indeed, as I myself had felt when about to—But that story has no business here.

Though not endowed with more than the average share of vanity that falls to my sex, I was certainly in some anxiety as to the appearance I presented in my novel garb. The inspection was satisfactory. Not only my clothing, but also my physique, had slightly changed, and for the better, so as to correspond with that of the new race among whom I found myself.

My somewhat prominent beak was toned down to a gentle aquiline. My eyes, for which I had lately been obliged to procure glasses, had recovered all the brightness of the days before they had been tried by much reading of poor print. They, as well as my hair, had also assumed a darker hue,—a tendency prevalent among the new race. My friend's surmise proved correct. This glance at the mirror had removed all uneasiness as to my personal appearance. Cheerfully I turned to announce my readiness to proceed, and remarked, for the first time, that a similar change had taken place in the well-known features of my companion. It might not unaptly be compared to the peculiar phonetic change that had softened to Utis Estai the name by which he had been known to me in that former life of mine.

Chapter 3

On descending to the level of the street, I found myself for the first time under the lowest arcade. Serving, as it did, for a substructure to the upper ones, it was built of corresponding strength in hewn granite. Though infinitely superior in grace and lightness, it reminded me of the somewhat similar structures found in certain of the streets of Berne.

Following my guide, I entered a vehicle standing near the curbstone on a sort of siding. The car was of light build and elegant appearance; the extensive use of aluminum and tinted ualin rendering it possible, in their construction, to combine great beauty of form with extraordinary lightness and strength. A separate seat was provided for each person, and every thing was scrupulously clean. Before stepping on the neat matting, I imitated my companion in carefully dusting my sandals upon the revolving brush provided for the purpose on the platform.

Perceiving neither horses nor any indication of the presence of steam, I asked what motive-power was employed. Steam, I learned, was seldom employed for any purpose. Electric motors of various kinds had been brought to a high degree of perfection, and were preferred for many reasons. Each of these cars, it seems, had its own motor. This was placed under the body of the car, between the wheels, and was so compact as to escape notice at a first glance.